


we just gotta take our time

by cori_the_bloody



Category: Don't Trust the B---- in Apartment 23
Genre: ANYWAY i think we all agree that chloe and june are in love, F/M, One Shot, Post-Canon, and even though mark had chronic nice guy syndrome, but i can't help feeling like mark and june deserved to have nice sex at least once, him and june were cute dammit!, not too far into the future post canon but still definitely post canon, the show didn't have to do them quite so dirty in the payoff to all that buildup, they have very compatible nerd energy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:27:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28306023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cori_the_bloody/pseuds/cori_the_bloody
Summary: And okay,yes, this is what she’d been expecting it to feel like all along. Exhilarating, in a safe not-a-totally-new-experience way. Friendly, in a desperate pining-for-you-despite-our-past way.
Relationships: June Colburn/Mark Reynolds
Kudos: 2





	we just gotta take our time

**Author's Note:**

> i considered posting this anonymously, but i guess i'll just commit to this silliness. don't trust the b in apartment 23, it's been a wHirlwind. you have not fully stolen my heart, yet here i am writing fic for you. may we never cross paths like this again.

“Thanks again for letting me stay here,” June says, tucking her feet up under her and accepting the carton of lo mein from Mark. “There was just, way too much sex happening at James’ place, and the fumigation of my building’s not scheduled to be done for another day.”

“What are friends for?” Mark says, shrugging off his kindness in that same bashful way he always does and offering up a bright grin as he settles beside her on the couch.

June nods a little too fast. “Right. Friends. Friends that are way better at separating sex from friendship than Chole and James—who I’m pretty sure get off on having people over at the same time. It’s like their way of having an orgy without actually having one.”

He lets out a sigh. “I prefer those precious, rare days when everyone forgets we tried to have terrible sex and it’s easier to pretend it didn’t happen.”

“Oops,” June says, wrinkling her nose as she pokes at her food.

“I mean, I’d much rather have you be the one to bring it up than Chloe,” he says, flipping idly through some channels.

“I’ve been trying to bargain her down to making a joke only _every other_ time she sees us together, but, well. She resists all things tactful.”

He raises his eyebrows at her. “But you think she wouldn’t just have an orgy if she wanted one?”

June grins. “I dunno. I feel like there are some sexy lines too radical for even her to cross.”

”Radical?” Mark says bemusedly.

“I’m certain she has her own Googling Porn.”

He grunts doubtfully, settling on the Food Network. They both sit in silence for a moment, chewing and watching a car commercial, before he says, “Wait, are you telling me the sex line that’s too radical for you is googling porn?”

June sits up a little straighter, avoiding looking over at him. “No.”

“What’s masturbation like?”

He asks the question like he can’t imagine the wonders of a world in which people can climax without the aid of porn but would love to visit one day, and maybe that’s why it sends a warm rush between her legs instead of instantly killing her with embarrassment.

“Perfectly satisfying,” she says, her cheeks flushing pink when their eyes catch, “thank you very much.”

“Glad to hear it,” Mark says, nodding. “Glad to hear it. Masturbation should be satisfying and often, I always say.”

“Chloe agrees with you,” June says, jerking her eyes back to her food. “If the number of times I’ve walked in on her is any indication.”

“Right,” he says. “Escaping sex. The reason you came here.”

“That’s not exactly—”

“What do you think?” he asks, gesturing at the television. “Do we stick with the Food Network?”

“Heck yeah,” June says, shifting closer to him a fraction. “We’re not about to change the channel on _Chopped Champions_. I’ve been looking forward to this show for over a month.”

“Yeah,” he says, grinning. “Me too.”

###

The television’s still on when June wakes up, illuminating the remnants of a cozy night in on a coffee table that’s definitely not hers.

She must jolt, causing the fingers in her hair twitch, which is when she realizes her cheek is pillowed against something warm and firm and nice-smelling that can only be a man’s thigh and—right! Fumigation, escaping sex…Mark.

She rolls onto her back to look up at him. He’s asleep sitting up, his face squashed into an accent pillow in a way that makes his cheeks look extra pinchable. She smiles a sleepy smile to herself.

Just then, a doorbell sound effect chimes from the TV and he blinks awake.

“Hey,” she says, grabbing onto his wrist—and noticing the way his hand is spread wide on her stomach.

He hums, nuzzling into the pillow. “Hey.”

Mark has nice hands, June decides. Knobby knuckles and long fingers that always smell faintly of freshly ground coffee. She traces the prominent vein from his wrist to those knuckles now, running her finger in circles around the winter-chapped skin. “Guess we fell asleep.”

“A full stomach can do that to you,” he says, watching her through heavy-lidded eyes.

“So true,” she says soundlessly, kinda mesmerized by Mark’s splayed fingers and the rise and fall of her own breathing.

The rise and fall quickens as his other hand combs through her hair, the tingles moving from her scalp in a southward direction.

“That feels nice,” she says.

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll keep doing it.” And then he does.

That is, until a moan slips from June and she sits up abruptly.

Mark looks concerned for a second when she turns her head, but something about her wild-eyed expression must amuse him because by the next second, he’s smiling.

She shifts so her knees are pressing against the back of the couch, against his waist, and rests her weight into the palm on his thigh before reaching up to catch the smile with her free hand, tracing the curve of his lower lip with the pads of her fingers.

“I know we know we’re not—” She swallows thickly. “But this still never fails to make me a little breathless.

“Your goose-honk laugh,” he counters immediately.

“Oh, really?”

He nods. “You throw yourself into it, especially right here.” His fingers brush up the side of her neck and then back down. “You have a very erotic neck.”

“No, stop!”

“It’s true,” he says, dropping his hand to her hip.

“I am so vain about my neck; it’s always been the lighting rod for all my self-love.” She continues to run her fingers back and forth, letting his stubble bite at her fingertips. “That’s why I had a prima ballerina phase in the fifth grade.”

“What happened there?”

“Well, all my gracefulness ends at my shoulders, obviously.”

“Oh, god,” he says, smiling wider, somehow. “What did you break?”

June can’t seem to look anywhere but Mark’s mouth. “Tiffany Galespi’s arm.”

His fingers slip under the hem of her shirt. “Poor Tiffany.”

She feels each point of warmth like a constellation on the small of her back. It would be so easy to lean in and kiss him right now, and she wants to tell him as much. But if they say something, maybe this strange new spell that’s been cast over them will be broken. Maybe that was the problem all along—looking directly at their interest in one another had spooked it away. They’re far too neurotic to be direct, and far too neurotic to dance around each other effectively.

Maybe the trick is to just be friends. Friends with wandering hands.

“So, what’s yours?” she asks, flexing her fingers around his thigh.

“My what?”

“The part of your body that you think is totally underappreciated considering how beautiful it is.”

He quirks an eyebrow at her. “Yeah, I don’t have one of those.”

She drops her hand from his face, suddenly serious. “Why not?”

“Because, I don’t know. I’m a guy? Guys don’t think about their bodies like that.”

“James could probably write an ode to at least ten obscure things he loves about himself.”

“No offense to the dude because I do actually kinda enjoy his total self-absorption—I find it fascinating in the same way listening to cabbies talk on the phone with their wives is entertaining—” Mark pauses, smiling when June scoffs. “I’m just not about to aspire to be him on, like, any level.”

She looks Mark in the eyes for a long moment before saying, “I see.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re afraid to dream big, that’s your problem.”

It’s Mark’s turn to scoff. “Afraid to let my ego completely take me over, more like.”

“You use humility as a security blanket,” June says, tilting up her chin in challenge.

“And you’re talking like someone who could rattle off a list of my ten most beautiful features.”

June’s heart leaps up into her throat as she says, “You have nice knuckles.”

Mark swallows, his Adam's apple visibly working in the flickering light of the television.

He wasn’t expecting her to actually do it, she realizes, and her stomach twists.

“I like your hair, too. And how you’re starting to get some color back in your upper arms and shoulders, but they’re still considerably lighter than your forearms.”

“Oh, I get it,” he says, narrowing his eyes. “You’re making fun of me.”

“What? Mark, no.”

“There’s no way you think my farmer’s tan is beautiful.”

“I do so!”

“Well, then, you’re crazy.”

“Alright,” she says. “You leave me no choice.”

“In…?”

She grabs at the hem of his shirt. “Take this off.”

“I’m not going to—”

“Please?” she asks, batting her eyelashes as she cuts him off.

He swears under his breath. “That’s not even kind of fair.”

“I wouldn’t have to bust out the big guns if you had just believed me,” she says, and then gives the hem of his shirt another tug. “Now you bust out your big guns.”

“Cute,” he says in a way that’s obviously meant to sound sarcastic but comes out mostly genuine.

She grins as he pulls the shirt up and over his head, even as he narrowly avoids elbowing her in the face.

He raises his eyebrows at her as the shirt lands on the floor with a soft _thud_. The question is clear: now what?

Casually as she can muster, she slips herself over his thighs, settling on his knees and freeing her hands to smooth up and down his bare arms.

Once again, he swallows thickly.

“It’s like…you know when you’re on a beach?” she asks, caressing him up to his shoulders. “This is dry land and the closer you get to the ocean—” She reaches the point low on his bicep where his color deepens. “—the more you anticipate squishing your toes into the cool, wet sand. Your tan is like that.”

“See,” Mark says, his eyes closed and his head tilted back, “your words still sound like you’re making fun of me, but the way you’re saying them…”

“Yeah?” She scootches forward on his lap and can feel him, not fully hard but still clearly affected by this moment in the same light-headed way she is.

“I dunno,” he says, “you’re making it sound like poetry.” When she’s silent for a beat, he opens his eyes. “That was cheesy, huh?”

“I happen to find cheese very comforting.”

He shakes his head. “You wacky Midwesterners.”

“You don’t like your farmer’s tan, and now you don’t like cheese? What’s next, you hate the hexagon freckle on your thigh?”

“First of all, I never said I didn’t like cheese. I’ve just never described my relationship with it as comforting.”

“Your loss.”

With a chuckle of acknowledgment, he says, “Secondly, what’s this about a hexagon?”

He asks the question with a waggle of eyebrows that makes June think he’s onto the game she’s playing.

A jolt of excitement lights up her stomach.

She’s not sure which of them moves first, but the next second, they’re kissing, Mark’s coffee-scented fingers tangled in her hair and her palms cupping his neck. His skin is warm and he’s breathing hard and okay, _yes_ , this is what she’d been expecting it to feel like all along. Exhilarating, in a safe not-a-totally-new-experience way. Friendly, in a desperate pining-for-you-despite-our-past way.

She has to break away a second later—dropping her forehead to his shoulder—as a giggle bursts up and out of her.

“Okay, now you’re definitely making fun of me,” Mark says, his breath fanning out on her neck and sending a shiver down her back.

She sits up straight again. “Am not!”

He eyes her like he’s not totally sure he can believe her. “Prove it.”

“Okay,” she says quietly, hopeful that he’s giving himself the chance to believe. That he’s giving _her_ the chance. “In that case, I’m going to need you to take off your pants.”

His eyes bug out, but he recovers a moment later. “You’re sure about this?”

She offers him a gentle peck before nodding. “Friends no matter what, right?”

He smiles one of those huge, boyish smiles of his. “I mean, yeah. We’ve got that on lock. Obviously.”

“Then I’m sure,” she says, and then stands off his lap.

She pushes the coffee table out of the way as Mark unbuckles his belt and then drops back onto the couch after letting his jeans pool around his ankles.

June lowers herself to her knees in front of him.

“This is, uh—this is new,” he says, watching her with bright eyes.

She ducks her head. Whenever she did this with Steven, there wasn’t much eye contact, and she’s not used to the way it makes her feel like she’s immolating.

“Here,” she whispers, sliding her hand under Mark’s boxers until her fingers find the spot high on his thigh. “Your freckle is here.”

“Huh,” is his choked reply.

“I’ve always loved hexagons,” she says, reverently tracing the shape in his skin. “It’s a dream of mine to visit the Causeway Coast in Ireland.”

“What’s that?” Mark asks, and June finds it admirable that he’s keeping the thread of the conversation, what with his erection becoming harder and harder for either of them to ignore.

“One of the world’s quieter, unassuming wonders. There’s a whole coastline of this compound that’s formed naturally into columns and columns of hexagons and this cute little folklore story about giants and I just imagine it’s one of the most magical thinking spots in the whole world.”

“You should go.”

She stops her tracing, glancing up at him. “Just like that?”

“You managed to make it in New York, right? So clearly you have experience with the traveling-far-off-lands thing. And you’ve been almost a year at Harkin. You’ve probably got the money and the vacation time.”

“That is a very well-structured case,” she says, and then hums thoughtfully as she leans over him to brush her lips against the freckle. “You should come.”

“Kinda been on the edge of it since you told me to take off my shirt.”

She hums again, dragging her lips back and forth. “I was talking about the trip.”

“Oh, I figured.”

That draws her attention back to his face. Even though it makes every blood vessel in her cheeks dilate, she holds the eye contact, biting her lip.

His nostrils flare.

She nods a couple times—and then grabs the base of his dick and licks a stripe up to the tip.

“Oh, fuck,” he grits out, gripping the edge of a couch cushion with one hand and cradling her head with the other.

Encouraged by that reaction, she does it again. And then one more time before sucking him partially into her mouth.

A choked laugh comes out of his mouth. “That feels— _oh, shit_. Nice. It feels nice.”

She pulls off him with a _smack_ to say with a breathless laugh, “Okay, I’ll keep doing it.”

“Okay,” he agrees, fisting her hair. It sends shockwaves down her neck and shoulders, into the tips of her fingers. She squeezes the base of his dick while taking him back into her mouth.

It’s not long before his whole body’s tensing and he’s pulling on her hair, trying to dislodge her. She grunts, determinedly keeping her rhythm—down and up and down and swirl the tongue and keep the suction and down and up.

“June, I’m about to…”

“Mm-hmm.” She hums around him.

“And you’re okay with—?”

She sucks harder.

“Fuck, okay,” he says, and then he lets out a low groan as he comes.

“It’s just cleaner this way,” June says once she sits back on her heels and swallows.

Mark laughs as he covers his face with his hands. “That’s the most June thing you’ve ever said.”

“And that’s a good thing?” she asks, watching him sink into the couch, spent.

“Oh, totally. June’s the best.”

With a pleased smile, she stands, and then collapses beside him on the couch, dropping her cheek onto the accent pillow still propped up against the wall.

“That was my first time giving a, um…you know. Since Steven,” she says after a moment of quiet. “My ex-fiancé.”

Mark turns his head to her. “No shit?”

She nods “It’s true.”

“It wasn’t my first time recieving,” he says with a sheepish half-shrug. “Since Jennifer.”

She almost doesn’t ask the question that’s immediately on the tip of her tongue. But if she can’t trust Mark with it, who would she be able to trust?

“If you were to rank… I mean, if you had to give this particular one a grade, would you say that mine was, uh—good?”

“Honestly?” He reaches over to twirl a strand of her hair around his finger. “That was easily one of the top five blow jobs I’ve ever gotten.”

A hysterical little giggle pops out of her. “Are you making fun of me?”

“I am not,” he says. And then, a second later, “If you were to give that experience a grade…?”

“B-plus,” she says automatically.

“Above average, but room for improvement.”

She hums, letting her eyes drift closed. “Exactly.”

“Cool. I can work with that.” They’re silent for a moment, Mark still toying with her hair. Then he says, “What other things haven’t you done since Steven?”

June feels tension lock into place down her spine. “Why do you wanna know?”

“Curious, mostly. And, uh, I’ve kinda got, ah, a serious refractory period, so I’m looking for inspiration on how to keep the fun going.”

She relaxes with a breathy chuckle. “Oh. Well…” Her cheeks flame. “No one’s put their mouth, you know, _down there_. Not since Steven and I tried it in high school and he decided it wasn’t as much fun as the other stuff we both liked.”

“June, are you trying to tell me that no one’s eaten your pussy in over a decade?”

Her eyes pop, a hot throb punching from low in her stomach to her groin. “Such vulgarity.”

“Holy crap, that is what you’re saying, isn’t it?

“I mean, I haven’t thought about it in exactly those terms, but—”

He’s suddenly gripping her shoulders and staring into her eyes with an intensity that makes her insides feel squirmy. “I’m so sorry. We have to rectify this immediately.”

She squeaks out her response. “O-okay.”

“Are you gonna be comfortable here?” he asks. “Or we could move to the bed.”

“I—”

He nods like she gave an intelligible answer. “The bed’s probably better.”

She takes his hand when he stands and offers it, trailing behind him to the bedroom. “Normally, I’d prepare more for something like this,” she tells him, stumbling over the threshold. “Read an article or ask Chloe for advice and probably treat myself to a spa day or buy cuter underwear or—”

He spins around, bringing her up short, and grabs onto her shoulders again. “Do you trust me?”

“Of course.” She doesn’t even have to think about it.

“Then stop worrying, and let me make you feel good.”

The throb comes back with a vigor. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

She nods. “Okay.”

He grasps her face in both hands and stoops down for a kiss so tender, June feels her knees go buzzy and weak.

She breaks away, dragging in a ragged breath. “I never told you this last time we…” She pauses, shaking her head and accidentally bumping Mark’s nose. “But your lips are incredibly soft, sir.”

“Ah, well.” He grins. “My power comes from the mint lip balm I get from the corner store at the end of my block.”

“Oh, I love a good lip balm.”

“One of life’s simple pleasures.”

“Totally.”

“Speaking of,” he says. And then he wraps his arms around her waist, lifts from his knees, and twirls her around to drop her on the bed.

Landing on her backside with a bounce punches the breath out of her. And before she gets it back, Mark is pushing between her thighs and dropping into a kneel.

“Oh my,” June says.

“You should take this off,” he says, tugging at the hem of her top.

She does, and before her shirt even hits the ground, his hands are on her breasts. With a laugh, she swats him away and unhooks her bra. “God, you’re so impatient.”

“You have nice boobs, and I will not apologize for noticing,” he says, warm palms covering her once more.

She lets him have his fun, leaning back on her hands and closing her eyes. And it is nice, the kneading and the caressing. And yet…

“I’ve always been bad at this part,” she blurts.

He stops moving. “What do you mean?”

“The winding path through all the erogenous zones,” she tries to explain, feeling sweat prick at the back of her neck. “It gives me too much time to think and I get stuck in my head and it’s—ugh!” She grunts and tries to get up. “Maybe Steven was right and I’m just not the type of person you do this with.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Mark says, stopping her from standing with a tight grip on her hips. “That’s not cool. You can’t tell me what you need and then quit before I have the chance to give it to you.”

She blinks, searching his face for any sign that he’s only humoring her. He watches her back, raising his eyebrows.

“Well,” she says, “when you put it that way, it is awfully short-sighted of me.”

He smiles. “Lie back.”

Her breath catches in her throat, and she does as she’s told. Then, she feels him tugging off her pants and starts to ramble. “I’ve always gotten the impression that it’s a turnoff for girls to be demanding. That talking too much is distracting. Do you find it distracting? It doesn’t really seem like you— _oh_ , hello there, sailor!”

She remembers feeling foolish last time this was happening to her—like being pushed out onto a stage, naked, to perform a play for which no one bothered to give you the script. But Mark’s handling her with such care as he drinks her in that she feels like a divine piece of art—not some clunky one-night performance. No, she’s transforming into the eternal _Ecstasy of Saint Theresa_ under the sensual guidance of his tongue.

“God,” she grits out, voice tense with her determination to suspend this moment on for an infinity. “I don’t remember—oh, _okay there_ —um, remember it feeling like this.”

He pulls off her long enough to ask, “Like what?”

Since there’s not exactly a lot of blood in her brain to spare for elegance, the only way she can think to describe it in the moment is, “Cherished.”

Mark, to his credit, doesn’t let her nonsensical answer derail him, and just moments later, June is on the edge of losing control.

“Ah, I—” She whimpers. “I feel…”

She doesn’t know how to finish her sentence, but he seems to understand anyway. The next sweep of his tongue is somehow encouraging, nudging her off the ledge into leg-spasming, toe-curling, spine-arching abandon.

The sweep after that: smug. A few sweeps after: determined.

She thinks she squeaks when she realizes he’s trying to make her come again, not simply ease her out of the moment, but she can’t be sure because after only a few more deep, gluttonous swipes of Mark’s tongue, he’s succeeding.

It’s less of a revelation than her first one—more like being continuously teased with feathers on every inch of exposed skin than hurdling off a cliff—but June appreciates the way that feeling snatches giggle after giggle from atop her throat and is absolutely not about to start complaining. Especially when the third orgasm comes in much the same way.

In a second, she’s giddily squirming so much, Mark has to pull away to draw in a deep breath and ask, “You good?”

“I am,” June says, nodding. Another bubble of laughter bursts out, and she kicks her legs up in the air. “Fun! This is fun.”

He hums an agreement in a way that’s actually more like a low growl, and it sobers her right up with a hot stab of _sexy_ to the gut. And _then_ , before she has the chance to set her feet back on the ground, he digs into her once more.

She shouts in response, which makes Mark laugh—and she’s hyper-aware of the rumble of his throat and the huffing breath of his amusement and the burn of his five o’clock shadow. It’s too much, and her legs start to fall— _timber_ , she feels the impulse to shout, but her throat is a little crowded with moans. He catches her left thigh with a warm palm and presses it back toward her, though.

Something about the way she’s wide open in that position and Just Had Three Orgasms In Three Minutes When The Standard is Three Orgasms in Three Months sensitive has her coming again, so hard it feels like her brain pops as though it’s a giant blood vessel under too much pressure. She’s not sure what exactly happens—she thinks she shouts some more and possibly kicks Mark in the forehead—but the next moment she feels like herself again, she’s situated a little higher on the bed and Mark’s on his side, stretched next to her and propping his head up against his wrist.

More laughter bursts out of her when they make eye contact and, though far less exuberantly, he joins in.

“What did you do to me?” she asks as the giggles subside.

His eyebrows tick up. “Based on your reaction, made you come harder than anyone’s ever made you come before.”

June lets out a low whistle. “You can say that again.”

He shrugs a maybe-I-will shrug.

“Mark,” she says, a little breathless, and reaches up to cradle his cheek in her palm. “That was incredible. Thank you.”

He turns his face into her hand and she feels him smile. “You’re always very polite, no matter what.”

She’s not sure what to say to that, so she just brushes her thumb under the curve of his lower lip.

“It was kinda awkward when, y’know. When the sex was bad. But I’m really digging it now.”

She hums an acknowledgement. Then, a moment later, says, “It’s kinda silly, huh? The one time we don’t have sex-sex, it’s the best sex we’ve had together.”

“I hope it’s not ‘ _the one time_ ’,” he says. “I mean, B-plus, right? We’ve still got room for improvement.”

She smiles and says, “You know what I mean,” as she shifts up into a sitting position.

“I do,” he says, sitting up, too. He picks at his comforter thoughtfully for a moment before saying, “Maybe that was our problem. We were trying to go about things with a script when we should’ve just been in the moment.”

“I do struggle with that.” She watches Mark’s hands. “Well, usually. Tonight was…different.”

He glances up at her, and their eyes find each other and stick. “Not to harp on it too hard but, about this being a one time thing or not…”

She lets out a sharp breath of a laugh. “I’d be open to another time.”

“Cool.”

“But maybe we shouldn’t officially commit to it in case that, I don’t know, is too much pressure.”

Mark nods slowly. “It happens if it happens. Probably a wise approach.”

“Yeah,” she says resolutely, sitting up straighter. “From here on out we’re living in the moment.”

They blink at each other and, a second later, she’s scrambling into his lap and searching out his lips.

Just as she’s really sinking into it, though, he pulls away. “Sorry, it’s just—”

“Refractory period,” June says, finishing his sentence. “Right. You said.” She slips off of him and settles beside him on the bed. “We’ll live in a different moment.”

“I could still—” he starts to offer, but she shakes her head.

“No, let’s just…” she trails off, patting the spot next to her.

He smiles a soft, kind smile as he sinks down beside her, tucking his arm around her as she rolls into him. Her head settles on his chest, rising and falling with his steadying breathing.

She laughs softly to herself.

“What?” he asks.

“I was just thinking about how this night has come full-circle.”

“Ah, well, not that you asked, but…” He breathes in deeply before saying, “I was just thinking about how I made you come harder than anyone’s ever made you come before.”

“Not very in-the-moment of you,” she says, suppressing an amused smile.

“Can you blame me?”

She considers the question for a beat before deciding, “No. After all, I’m gonna be reliving that past a lot myself in the coming days.”

He snickers. “ _Coming_ days.”

“That was unintentional,” she says primly.

He rubs a palm up and down her arm. “Then this night is just chock-full of happy accidents.”

She nestles closer to his side. “So it is.”


End file.
